


Breaking Point

by sinemafile



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: EXPLICIT CONSENT BECAUSE ITS NECESSARY, Hatesex, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Series, Voyeurism, boys fighting around expensive lab equipment, eo-wells is an asshole, grape candy, nsfw (not safe for the lab workplace), unsafe lab activities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinemafile/pseuds/sinemafile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hartley was mostly a jerk. But sometimes? He could be a dick.” Missing scene. Wells tries to clear the air between Hartley and Cisco to keep the accelerator on schedule. His methods are questionable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> This was canon compliant until the big reveal of 2x11. Oh well! Spoilers through the end of season 1. There will probably be a sequel. Probably. 
> 
> Story credit goes partly to my beta, manicpixiedreamspock on tumblr!

There were things Wells deeply disliked.

Hummers, for instance. Enormous, clunky, fossil-fuel reliant wastes of space and resources. They were ugly and slow and  _ inefficient. _

Wells despised inefficiency.

His particle accelerator was slated to debut in a week. He had worked tirelessly,  _ meticulously _ to ensnare the best of the best for his team at STAR Labs. By all estimates, his core team - Hartley Rathaway, Caitlin Snow, and the newly acquired Cisco Ramon - comprised the most advanced collection of blooming scientists in the country, if not the world. They were at the peak of their creative ingenuity, fresh from university, and exceptionally eager for his guiding hand. Wells rarely accepted anything but the best. After all, the accelerator was the catalyst for all of his plans for the future. He had micromanaged everything to go exactly the way he wanted. Based on the way he stacked the deck, his team should be perfectly on schedule for the accelerator’s debut. They should even be  _ ahead _ of schedule.

His team was behind by three entire days.

Wells stared hard through the glass panes separating his office from the main lab. His knee bounced: the single outlet for his mounting irritation. Intermittently his Speed kicked in, jittering with static and vibrating the floor for a spare second at a time. The motion travelled up into his glass desk, rattling the pair of glasses resting beside his computer. Each vibration rattled them a little closer to the edge. He didn’t notice them.

In the lab outside, oblivious to Wells’ scrutiny, sat the perpetrators of the accelerator’s lagging schedule.

Rathaway and Ramon were situated at workstations as far apart as possible, backs to each other, sitting in complete silence besides the clicking of fingers on keyboards and the pad of styluses on tablets. The atmosphere was stiff and hostile between them.

Passive aggressive tension had built between the boys since they first laid eyes on each other. Wells had hoped they might settle their differences for the sake of the project (and to gain Wells’s favor, which they both coveted pitifully). But weeks had passed and their rivalry grew more and more stifling. They hadn’t spoken more than two words to each other in as many weeks. Wells had been  _ wrong _ .

Wells despised being wrong.

His knee bounced now in a humming blur. The glasses on his desk inched closer and closer to the edge. Then they slipped unceremoniously into the void and clattered loudly to the tile floor. Wells startled, knee freezing in place.

Reverie broken, Wells retrieved his glasses at normal speed. The fall had cracked a lens. He blinked, trying to clear his head. He’d begun to lose his control. That was unacceptable.

Wells’s gaze flicked between the fractured lens and the silent pair outside his office.

_ Hm. _

He smiled a small, clever smile. Just a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. 

_ A breaking point. _

* * *

 

Five minutes before the end of his salaried work day, Cisco heard Dr. Wells leave his office.

“Cisco,” Dr. Wells did not sound chipper, “Hartley - I need you both to stay in tonight. I need those models by tomorrow morning. No exceptions. We’re-”

“Behind schedule,” Hartley smoothly finished, puffing out his chest. “My team has been working extra hours all  _ week _ , Dr. Wells. I fully intend to make the deadline.” 

“Good.” Wells draped his coat over his arm. “I expect nothing but your best, Cisco.” 

Cisco bristled internally. Why was  _ he  _ getting called out? 

“No problem, Dr. Wells.” Cisco fidgeted with his tablet, eyeing the coat. “Are you... leaving for the night?”

“I’m afraid I have a few calls to make from home.”

“Oh.” The rest of the team had already left for the night. Caitlin and Ronnie were gone for dinner. It would just be the two of them if Dr. Wells left, and Cisco  _ loathed _ the idea of being alone with Hartley. Without Wells around, Hartley had no reason to censor his shitty attitude. 

“Is that a problem, Mr. Ramon?” Wells sized him up suspiciously.

“Uh, no. It’s cool. I mean, I was just asking.”

Hartley coughed, not so discreetly.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.” Dr. Wells started briskly for the hallway. “Goodnight.”

The boys chorused ‘goodnight’ in response, one insufferably syrupy and the other deeply put out. Dr. Wells disappeared down the hallway and his footsteps faded from earshot. Silence descended. Cisco mentally crossed his fingers that Hartley would leave him alone for the rest of the night. (Not likely, but he could dream, right?)

Cisco glanced at the time on his tablet. 7:30. He would not be getting dinner tonight; that was for sure. He turned back to his workstation.

Luckily, Cisco had a temporary solution to this shitty situation: he retrieved a dark purple lollipop from the inside pocket of his jacket. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth, set the plastic aside, and got back to work.

About thirty seconds passed.

“You can’t be  _ serious _ .”

Cisco almost choked on his sucker. Rathaway just couldn’t let him live.

“Abou’ wha’?” The candy clacked against Cisco’s teeth as he tried to talk around it. He swiveled in his spinney chair to see Hartley glaring daggers at him.

“You can’t  _ eat _ at the workstations.”

Cisco’s eyes rolled back in his head and into the next dimension. He pulled the candy from his mouth with a pop. 

“It’s… a  _ lollipop, _ Hartley. No crumbs, no liquids, no grease,” he put it back in his mouth and wiggled his fingers, “no ‘ands!”

Hartley abruptly stood up, scorn plain on his face. “This isn’t  _ preschool _ , Mr. Ramon, this is the most prestigious lab in the country. You don’t get to sit here eating candy in your ridiculous tee-shirts and jeans and expect to be called a  _ scientist. _ Is it any wonder we’re behind?”

Cisco took the lollipop out of his mouth and set it very deliberately on its wrapper. He stood, matching Hartley from across the room.

“Look, Rathaway, the way I dress has  _ nothing _ to do with how I do my job. What the hell is your problem? I do just as much work on this project as you!”

Hartley laughed. A loud, bright, open laugh that hit Cisco like a punch to the gut.

“Is  _ that  _ what you’ve been doing? Work?”

“Yeah, I  _ work _ , Hartley. I actually have to do my  _ job _ to get paid.” Cisco turned back to his workstation and dropped into his chair. Madre de Dios, he just wanted to go home.

“Are you saying I don’t do my job?” Hartley advanced a few steps, shoulders squared. 

“You’re doing some type of job,” Cisco said under his breath, “ _ that’s _ for sure.” He picked up his sucker again.

“ _ What _ did you just say?”

Cisco ignored him. Hartley crossed the room and gripped the back of Cisco’s chair, spinning him around. Cisco snapped.

“Listen, you asshole - I am  _ just _ as good a scientist as you are. I  _ deserve _ to be here. And I will not -” he pushed his chair back, away from Hartley - “be  _ bullied _ out of STAR Labs by Dr. Wells’s  _ fuckboy _ .”

Hartley’s face twisted up behind his glasses. “What,” his voice dropped to a dangerous octave, “did you just call me?”

Cisco looked Hartley right in the eye. “Fuck,” he dipped the lollipop into his mouth and pulled it out again, “ _ boy _ .” 

Cisco brought his teeth together on the candy; it splintered in his mouth. He crunched up the sugary fragments. It was the only sound in the room for a long, long moment.

Hartley finally spoke. 

“You think I  _ fucked _ my way into STAR Labs?”

Swallowing the last of his makeshift dinner, Cisco stood. Stepped around Hartley. Made his way to the bin across the room, discarded his sucker stick and wrapper. Started back to his desk. Hartley moved at the last second, blocking Cisco from reclaiming his desk chair.

“Move,” Cisco said.

“Answer my question.”

“Move  _ please. _ ”

Hartley didn’t budge. Cisco pointedly turned toward Hartley’s desk chair and made to take it instead.

Hartley took a fistful of Cisco’s shirt and  _ swung _ .

Luckily, Cisco didn’t grow up in a friendly neighborhood.

Cisco ducked and the punch sailed harmlessly over his head. Cisco drove his weight into Hartley’s open side from behind his own fist, landing a hit solidly between the fifth and sixth rib. Hartley doubled over, and Cisco grabbed him by his neatly trimmed hair and drove a knee into his gut. 

Hartley almost dropped. Almost. He swayed, clutching his bruising diaphragm with one arm.

“Wow.” Hartley had the indecency to laugh. “Didn’t expect that.”

“STEM isn’t exactly the family business, you dick.”

“Of course.” Hartley straightened up, and there was a new expression on his face. Something devious, that Cisco had never seen before. “My bad.”

And Hartley swung again.

This strike was faster and heavier and clipped Cisco on the cheek before he could react. Pain flowered across his face and he reeled back, head spinning. Hartley surged in with another hook, but Cisco dodged and shoved forward, catching Hartley squarely beneath the arms. A twist, and Hartley flipped.

The tile floor hit Hartley squarely between the shoulders. His breath left him as he sprawled. His glasses skittered across the floor and under the desk. Cisco loomed over him, his face lit up with adrenaline and anger. With morbid satisfaction he watched Hartley struggle to reflate his lungs as he felt his own face begin to swell.

“Is everything okay in here?”

Dr. Wells voiced startled them both, violently. Cisco whirled to see their mentor poking his head into the lab. They looked like kids caught with a broken cookie jar. “I heard a crash.”

“Dr. Wells,” Hartley found his voice, and it was as syrupy and collected as ever, which pissed Cisco off. “I tripped.”

“Ah.” He looked unconvinced, but dismissed the excuse like he was in a hurry. He entered the lab and crossed the room towards his office. “Sorry to spook you, I forgot my driving glasses.”

“You could have called one of us to bring them down,” Hartley offered helpfully.

“No need.” He was in and out of his office in a few seconds with his glasses. “Remember, 8am tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Cisco tried to smile. His face hurt.

Dr. Wells disappeared again, this time for good.

Cisco rounded on Hartley, glowering. Hartley grinned - another new expression - indecently smug. He held out a hand to be helped to his feet, as if he deserved that kind of assistance from Cisco. What a fucking  _ dick _ . 

“Truce?” He innocently asked.

Cisco wouldn’t trust Hartley with the pennies in his pocket. But he took the outstretched hand anyway, because he was a  _ better person _ than Hartley.

Big mistake.

Hartley was halfway up when he pitched forward, driving his weight into Cisco’s ribs like a linebacker. Cisco felt his back hit the lab wall with a thud that rattled his teeth. Hartley drove his forearm into Cisco’s throat, pinning him within an inch of suffocation. 

Cisco struggled, but Hartley was surprisingly strong for a nerdy little white boy. 

“If you’re stupid enough to think that I’m Wells’s little lapdog,” Hartley’s voice was low, “you’re missing the big picture.”

“Sure.” Cisco tugged at the arm crushing him to the wall, but to no avail. He was starting to see stars. And not the fun kind. “You’re the one that keeps calling yourself the  _ Chosen One _ . Let me  _ go _ , you psycho.”

“Use your brain, Ramon. Can’t you see what we’re doing here?”

Cisco couldn’t believe him. “Beating on each other because you’re a fucking dick and I can’t stand you?”

Hartley actually rolled his eyes, like this answer was either too obvious or just plain incorrect. Unbelievable. He pressed closer so he was nearly nose to nose with Cisco. His eyes were narrowed… or maybe he was squinting because his glasses were still on the floor across the room. Hard to say.

“I’m not what you think I am,” Hartley spoke barely above a whisper. “You think you have it all figured out, but you don’t.”

“Then maybe you should explain it to me without your  _ ulna _ in my  _ windpipe _ .”

“I can’t.”

“ _ Whyyyyy? _ ” What possibly made choking him necessary to an explanation?

“I mean I have to  _ show _ you.”

“Hartley,” Cisco’s head was spinning now, “are you on drugs?”

“What?”

“Because there is something  _ seriously _ wrong with you.”

Hartley’s patience finally waned. He removed his arm from Cisco’s throat (thank God!) to grab fistfuls of his shirt instead. “ _ Listen to me _ , Ramon, Wells is -”

Cisco didn’t listen. Instead he grabbed Hartley’s wrists and headbutted him right in his stupid face. 

Hartley staggered back, stunned. Cisco took him by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall, pinning him. Hartley squirmed, fists flying, twisting and bucking against Cisco’s weight. Cisco caught his wrists and smashed them against the wall by his head, bodily forcing him flush to the wall - they were nose to nose - Hartley’s breath caught? - Cisco’s lips were curled in an angry snarl - Hartley’s eyes were so wide -

Their mouths were together, open wide, all sharp exhales and tongue. Hartley lost himself in the heady taste of grape candy on Cisco’s lips. Cisco’s fingernails dug into the skin of his wrists and the pain sent shocks of electricity to Hartley’s groin. Cisco felt it immediately. His body responded in kind, and it pissed him off.

Cisco’s hips rolled once, smashing Hartley against the wall. The sensation roused a sharp cry from Hartley’s throat that muffled in Cisco’s mouth. It was a  _ needy _ noise, not a complaint, and Cisco slid his knee between Hartley’s legs to crush him with the weight of his body.

Hartley melted. He sank against the juncture between Cisco’s hip and heavy thigh and moaned into Cisco’s mouth. He rolled his hips for more friction, his trapped hands clenching at nothing in a wishful pantomime of curling into Cisco’s hair.

“ _ Cisco _ ,” Hartley crooned, and his voice was something sinful. The sound fluttered around in Cisco’s chest and then surged into his core - a butterfly gone fallen-angel. Hartley had never called him by his first name before. 

Cisco pulled back to look at him, his heart racing and his core aching. Hartley’s eyelashes were long and full, his mouth wide and soft, his usually neat hair tousled into a mess. Without glasses, his face was delicate and serene. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen and pink and wantonly parted. Something about the sight of Hartley  _ wrecked _ made triumph swell in Cisco’s chest.

“See something you like?” Hartley grinned at him with hooded eyes. The smugness was back. And Cisco’s victory evaporated.

He shoved Hartley against the wall with his hips again. Hartley’s breath left in a laugh. Like a fucking  _ dick _ . Cisco growled, “Stop  _ talking _ .”

“Make me.”

Cisco did. He tried to pry the smile from Hartley’s lips with his teeth. It didn’t work. 

He released Hartley’s hands and took him by the belt, fingers searching for the release. Hands freed, Hartley exhaled with unabashed glee and hooked a finger around the elastic of Cisco’s ponytail. He pulled, and Cisco’s hair fell loose around his fingers. Hartley buried his hands at the nape of Cisco’s neck and sought out his mouth again. He’d always  _ hated _ that ponytail.

The belt came free and the button of Hartley’s pants followed close behind. Cisco ground him into the wall again, driving his thigh against Hartley’s barely concealed erection. 

* * *

In the low light of the Time Vault, Wells’s clever smile had grown into something broader - and much, much darker. Gideon displayed for him several angles of the main lab’s security feed. Sound included.

It was with mounting satisfaction that he watched his prodigal sons both transition from brawling with their fists to with their mouths. This was perhaps the smoothest execution of any plan he had ever conceived. It was a little embarrassing that he had taken so long to think of such an effective solution to his team’s productivity problem, but alas.

Wells’s gaze followed the movement of Ramon’s hand as it slipped beneath the waistband of Rathaway’s briefs. His own pulse quickened as he watched Ramon take him in hand. The adrenaline triggered his Speed, and everything around Wells slowed to a near standstill. 

In gloriously slow motion, Rathaway bucked shamelessly into Ramon’s hand, a whorish picture of lust as he spread himself open to the touch. He had a  _ distinctive _ moan, a sinful set of pipes in that pretty throat - and he used them very well. Ramon thought he was in control, thought he was tearing him into pieces, but it was Rathaway who held the cards. 

Wells had taught him as much, of course. It  _ was _ gratifying to see his handiwork in action. 

Rathaway reminded Wells of himself in many ways. And Ramon? Quite the opposite. So smart, but also so trusting and eager to bring people together, to surround himself with friends. Rathaway was a genius opportunist, driven by an overwhelming desire to surpass the best of the best, even if it meant his own isolation.

(Not that this made him any less pliable to Wells’ influence, of course. He had him smitten, on a variety of levels.)

Wells thought with black irony of his rivalry with the Flash. The old Flash -  _ his _ Flash. The Barry Allen he’d spent decades chasing, fighting, and tearing to pieces with blades and fists. The Barry Allen he’d fucked in hidden alleys and abandoned buildings in brief, hateful intermissions during their bloody brawls at unbelievable speeds. The Barry Allen that would hide his face as he came inside his rival again and again, straining to preserve his secret identity, night after night with the world grinding to a stop around their immense velocity, hating each other, but needing it -  _ needing _ the incredible intimacy that was unique to such violence.

Rathaway and Ramon reminded him of the fire that drove Wells into the past to end it once and for all, just to be forced to rebuild the future himself.

Rathaway’s throat loosed a cry that sounded like it had been pulled up to his mouth from his feet. Ramon had sunk his teeth into the sensitive flesh at the base of his neck.

Wells leaned heavily against Gideon’s podium, reveling in the pressure building at the base of his own spine as bloody memories melded with the show before him.

* * *

Cisco had taken Hartley by the hair again, pulling hard as he nursed the fresh hickey at his throat. He’d set a rough pace on Hartley’s cock. With every stroke, barely lubricated by precum and sweat, his breath came faster and his knees became weaker. With every thrust, twist, and jerk of Cisco’s strong hand, Hartley Rathaway crumbled.

Cisco took his mouth again, dragging kisses from swollen lips between musical, throaty moans. He ached to do more than just jerk him off - his brain populated with images of Hartley sprawled on his back with his knees gripping Cisco’s hips while Cisco gave him something  _ real _ to scream about - of Hartley bent over the workstation desk - of Hartley in the janitor’s closet, Hartley in his bed, his shower, his kitchen,  _ Hartley _ \- 

Hartley’s entire body shuddered, hips canting one last time into Cisco’s merciless grip. His head tipped back, an incredible sound bursting from his lungs. He came hard in Cisco’s hand and in his briefs, riding a high Cisco wanted sorely share. He felt Hartley slacken in his hand, and then against the wall, breathing like he’d just run a lap around STAR Labs.

Hartley appraised Cisco, his face stretching into a smile even haughtier than before. Something twisted in Cisco’s chest - the air between them changed - and he moved to withdraw his hand from Hartley’s pants. Hartley stopped him, catching his arm. 

Cisco suddenly understood that he had not been the one in control of this encounter.

Holding his gaze, Hartley guided Cisco’s hand upward. And then took two of his sticky fingers into his mouth.

Hartley’s eyes bored into Cisco’s as his tongue slipped between his fingers. Cisco was paralyzed. Hartley worked those fingers clean, then moved to the next two. Then to his thumb. And then sank his teeth into the meat of Cisco’s palm - not enough to break the skin, but enough to bruise. Except it didn’t hurt. It made Cisco  _ ache. _

Hartley’s free hand had found the button of Cisco’s (uncomfortably tight) jeans. He felt the button release and the zipper descend. His pulse was loud in his ears. Hartley hooked his fingers on the elastic of Cisco’s boxers, but went no further.

He was still trapped in Hartley’s unwavering gaze.

“Ask,” Hartley said. 

Cisco’s brain took an extra moment to connect. Then he was mortified. His mouth moved wordlessly. He felt helpless.

“ _ Ask _ .” Hartley scraped the skin of his abdomen with a fingernail, still toying with the elastic. It sent a shock straight to his dick and his brain numbed a little more, but Cisco still couldn’t bring himself to  _ beg _ .

“Cis-co,” Hartley drew the syllables out like a siren call. “Do you want it, or not?”

Cisco’s mouth closed, opened. Hartley nibbled idly at his fingers, brushing them gently with his lips. He ached so much it was getting hard to breathe _. _

“Yes…” Hartley’s roaming finger finally traced beyond the waistband, teasing friction just centimeters lower, “or no?”

Cisco swallowed. “Yes.” He was desperate. “ _ Yes. _ ”

Hartley’s smile was genuine triumph.  _ Checkmate. _

In a moment he had dropped to his knees, both hands tearing Cisco’s pants and boxers out of the way. He took him into his mouth, deep and all at once, and Cisco almost lost it right there.

He had to brace himself against the wall to keep his knees from buckling. Hartley’s hands roamed over Cisco’s thighs, up and down his ass, up his chest beneath his shirt. Cisco distantly heard himself making pitiful noises into the wall against his face. He couldn’t help himself. Hartley’s tongue was doing terrible things - sinful things - worked him from base to tip and back, then with his whole mouth again, and then  _ teeth _ \- and Hartley’s nails kept scraping down his inner thighs, and Cisco couldn’t  _ take it - _

He was so close, he couldn’t think, it was too much, too much pressure building at his spine, the coiling in his gut too tight,  _ “Dios mio Hartley porfavor lo necesito lo necesito - porfavor - mierda - mierda - HartleyYY- _ ”

He lost it, stars bursting behind his eyelids as he came violently in Hartley’s mouth.

Hartley rode out his orgasm, humming pleasantly. Cisco’s brain was blank for nearly a full minute. Hartley finally released him and leaned back against the wall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. And the back of his other hand. He tucked Cisco back into his boxers.

Cisco slid to the ground next to him, all but collapsing against the wall on the way down. His body was numb with afterglow but his brain was confused. 

The two sat wordlessly, the quiet of the room broken only by the sound of their labored breathing. What seemed like minutes passed before Hartley finally said,

“I don’t suppose you have another one of those lollipops, do you?”

A short, somewhat hysterical laugh erupted from Cisco’s throat. The irony of everything leading up to this moment hit him all at once and he wasn’t capable of handling it. It was funny. No… it wasn’t funny, actually. But all he could do was laugh.

“Uh. Yeah. In my car.”

“Can I have one?”

“Yeah.”

“...Can you stand?”

“...In a minute.”

“How’s your face?”

What. Oh. Cisco remembered the right hook he’d taken on the cheek. He couldn’t feel it, but it was probably swollen. He’d feel it in the morning.

“Probably looks worse than it is.”

“I can’t see very well.”

“Oh yeah. I think your glasses broke. Sorry.”

Hartley shrugged against the wall. “I have spares.”

“Oh. Cool.”

They fell quiet again. They sat silently, side by side, until Cisco couldn’t take it anymore. He wobbled to his feet, bracing against the wall, and then started gingerly back toward his workstation.

“So that’s it, is it?” Hartley squinted after him.

“We have...” Cisco winced. His face was starting to hurt, after all. “A deadline.” He touched his swollen cheek. 

“We’re not behind.”

Maybe Cisco’s brain was still lagging, but did he just hear that? “Uh. What?”

“Everything is virtually finished. I just haven’t submitted anything.”

He stopped hobbling to turn on Hartley. “Oh my God. What?”

Hartley just shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

“Well - well we apparently have all night!” Cisco’s head was spinning again. “What do you  _ mean _ ? Why would you just - have you been  _ lying _ to Wells? We’ve been getting bitched at for days about being behind!”

Hartley took a long moment to respond, like he was thinking something over. When he did, he was quiet. “Go home, Cisco.”

What the fuck. What the  _ fuck _ . “Are you serious?” And then it dawned on him. His gut dropped through his feet and down to the accelerator pipeline 600 floors beneath STAR Labs. “Oh my God, is this some kind of setup? This was a  _ setup _ . All of it. You’re trying to get me  _ fired _ . Holy shit. Holy - and - oh my God - we were on  _ camera _ \- I’m, I’m going to be  _ sick _ -”

Cisco leaned against the desk, nausea building. He was going to puke. He couldn’t believe it. He was done. Everything he’d worked for was over, and just because - because -

“Cisco.” Hartley was on his feet, but he was calm. Sober, even. “Breathe, Cisco. I’m going to erase the footage for tonight. I didn’t plan this. And I’ll submit everything in the morning that’s still missing. Go home.”

“You asshole.” Cisco was trying to get his lungs to work. “You  _ asshole _ .”

“Yep.” Hartley took him by the shoulder. Cisco flinched, ripping his arm away.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t -” his stomach turned again. “I’m going. I’m  _ going _ .”

Cisco lurched to his desk, scrabbling to gather his coat. His keys. His phone. He shoved past his chair and nearly tripped over it. He didn’t realize the tears welling in his eyes until he was down the hall and jamming the button for the elevator to the surface.

When the elevator sealed with him inside and started to rise, the tears fell in earnest.

* * *

After fishing his glasses out from under a desk, Hartley Rathaway methodically closed out the programs open on the lab computers. He began shutting down their abandoned equipment. He went to his own workstation last. Pulled up a file on his tablet. It held the completed models from the rest of his team, now including Cisco’s latest work. The contents of this file put the team nearly 6 days ahead of schedule instead of three days behind. He scanned the list from behind the cracked lenses of his glasses.

He closed out the file. Opened the cloud drive STAR Labs used for data transfers. Uploaded it all to Dr. Wells’s computer. Dropped his tablet into his chair while the transfer completed. Leaned heavily against the desk. Removed his ruined glasses. Closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Hartley was more than a little scared. All pride aside, he had to admit that to himself. He was genuinely unsure if he’d been made. His attempt to delay the accelerator project had come to an end that could  _ only _ be described as orchestrated, even if it seemed like it had been something born of chaos. This carried Wells’s signature fingerprint. You never knew you were being played until he knocked over your King, out of nowhere. Wells always made the last move. And Hartley could never see it coming until it was right in front of his face. He  _ hated _ that. He hated it in the same way he loved it for the challenge it presented. The  _ danger _ . But this. This was real danger. Real lives. Real lives were at stake.

Wells’ models all led to the same outcome. All of them. All of his numbers, his impressive rigs. It pointed to  _ collapse _ . Hartley had begun running his own simulations, privately, when he first realized the trend. Every outcome was the same. 

The accelerator was being built to  _ fail. _

It had been so ridiculous to think at first! The incredible, genius Dr. Harrison Wells - intentionally build something designed to explode? Inconceivable! Hartley had doubted himself constantly leading up to tonight. Doubted his decision to start delaying the project until he could determine a motive for Wells to do such a thing. But  _ now _ . Now, oh, it was  _ real _ . The doubt was gone.

The  _ question _ remaining was that Hartley didn’t know if Wells had designed this -  _ situation _ \- with Cisco because he thought their rivalry was the problem… or if he knew  _ Hartley _ was the problem.

Hartley picked up his tablet again and put on his glasses. He hacked into the security footage of the main lab. Loaded the cameras. Six angles. There were  _ six _ angles of this room. His chest contracted with an unfamiliar mixture of humiliation and embarrassment, which he brushed aside with some difficulty. Hartley traced backward in the feed to the point where Wells had returned after their initial brawl. What came before that point was negligibly incriminating; what came after was professional suicide.

He looked up at the camera with the closest angle, positioned in the corner of the room opposite of where Hartley and Cisco had gone at each other like hormonal teenagers. He looked directly at it, briefly wondering if there was somebody else on the other side. 

He dismissed the thought.

Hartley deleted the footage. Deleted the backup footage. Erased the duplicate of the backup footage in the cloud. Wanted to erase the memory of it from his own head.

When he was done, he shut everything down. He threw his glasses in the trash. They crinkled atop Cisco’s discarded candy wrapper. 

Hartley gathered his sweater, gathered his tech. He turned off the lights. And he headed for the elevator.

* * *

A floor below Hartley, the man in the Time Vault had his fists clenched tight at his sides.

Hartley Rathaway was up to something. He didn’t know what it was, but it was bad news for Wells. Bad news for the accelerator. Bad news for the future.  _ His _ future.

Wells was angry. 

Wells was very, very angry.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
